In Those Moments
by James P. Darcy
Summary: Two lonely people, both cursed in their own way, are brought together by a cruel twist of fate. By the end of their story, they are granted a lifetime of love. How did they find it? Well, you could say it occurred through a series of moments...
1. What Once Wasn't

**AN:** This story has always been one of my favorites, but I wish we could have seen those moments between Belle and the Beast where they came to know each other and fell in love. Through a series of one-shots, I'll attempt to uncover what might have happened.

**In Those Moments**

1: What Once Wasn't

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><p>"<em>GET OUT!"<em>

Belle was not sure how far her feet alone would carry her, but as she practically flew down the staircase of her captor's castle, the adrenaline pumping through her veins promised a good distance. Or, at least one that would take her to safety. She was vaguely aware of a clock and candelabra calling out to her as she twirled her cloak around her body and pushed through the entry door – the same one that had sealed her fate after she entered in hopes of finding her father. '_Promise or no promise – I can't stay here another minute!'_

The chill of the air hit her hard, so much that she almost lost her breath. A fresh layer of snow covered the ground and she could feel it seeping through her flimsy shoes. She knew she could not keep up her pace with damp footwear…

Philippe!

Belle spotted him just ahead of her, as if he had known of the recent turn of events and was waiting for her all along. She clumsily pulled herself into the saddle and snapped the reigns. Philippe jerked into a full-out gallop, kicking up clouds of snow behind him. Belle's grip on the reigns tightened as her pulsating heart kept up with the pounding of her horse's hooves. She knew she should not have gone into the West Wing, especially since she was ordered not to. Why had she gone into his room of all places? Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she relived the moment when the Beast found her.

_She had found a rose, strangely suspended in midair, and covered in a glass casing. Curiosity had gotten the better of her when she lifted the glass and reached out to touch the soft petals._

She shuddered, remembering the image of a large, furry body towering over her.

_Even though the room was only lit by the glowing rose and the moonlight, she could see his piercing blue eyes as they cut through her like his clawed fingers. _

She doubted that she had ever felt so exposed in her life. Then he began shouting. The low timbre of his gruff voice reverberated through her again and her body prickled with tension. She bit back a sob and immediately felt angry at herself for crying. Even if he could not see her, she would rather relive his rage than give him the satisfaction of knowing she had shed tears over it.

Philippe snorted, wondering if his master would be all right as he dodged low-lying branches and roots that threatened to throw him off balance. Wolves howled in the distance, but the sounds of growling had recently become closer. Shadows with glowing yellow eyes flew through the timber.

Belle had not noticed the imminent danger and urged Philippe onward, snapping the reigns again in order to go faster. In that moment a wolf darted in front of Philippe and aimed its jaws at the horse's leg. Belle was thrown back in her saddle as Philippe reared upward, but she still gripped the reigns. She stifled a scream as more wolves materialized from the shadows of the timber. "Go Philippe! Faster!" Belle was no longer interested in direction as much as she was speed. She steered Philippe left and right in a most haphazard fashion, just barely losing the pack of predators that followed. She almost sighed in relief at the sight of an opening in the trees. Perhaps she was closer to home than she thought.

Philippe followed the order to push forward and entered the open field only to fall through the ground. Water and ice swallowed his legs. Despite the numbing sensation and his initial shock, Philippe plowed through the river's frozen covering.

When Belle first felt the sting of the hidden river on her calves, she thought she would jump out of her own skin. Now she felt numb and frozen to her saddle, and the only thing keeping her from fainting was the sound of claws scraping on the ice and the grunting of fanged jaws. She noticed Philippe was now moving of his own accord, finding the closest row of trees and rushing toward them. He did not want to be in the water any longer than she did.

When they met the ground again, Belle glanced behind her and found that the wolves were still following relentlessly, although a few dared not to enter the water and watched from the opposite bank. Would it never end? Would she never feel safe? She knew Philippe's stamina was running down as his pace was much slower than it had been. Other wolves must have heard the commotion for they too were emerging from the trees. When one darted toward Philippe's legs in another attempt, the tired horse jerked backward again but Belle had not energy to hang on. She fell in a heap on the forest floor, but quickly righted herself in order to defend her horse. Philippe's reigns were stuck on a tree branch and she couldn't free him. She jerked and jerked but that only seemed to make the leather wrap tighter. In a moment of panic, Belle grabbed a thick branch from the ground and began to swing at her assailants. If they would not leave then she would fight them off!

Had she not been so tired, her aim would have been better and her blows more powerful. She made contact with a few but it was a losing battle. Philippe momentarily forgotten, they encircled her. One jerked on her cloak and pulled her to the ground. They were playing now, and it was a deadly game. A wolf in front of her stooped low and Belle prepared for him to lunge at her as she closed her eyes and tried to protect herself with her arms. But the attack never came.

A loud roar dulled her ears. She found herself on her stomach in the snow and lifted her chin to find dark brown fur tickling her forehead. _It – it's…him!_ It was hard to believe her eyes, but just feeling the warmth of his massive body over hers was enough to prove the truth. She watched in amazement as the Beast leapt over her and attacked the wolves in a rage that rivaled the display at the castle. She wondered why he was so angry. He had told her to leave, so he certainly couldn't be mad at her for doing just that!

The Beast rolled through the snow as the wolves tore at his clothes and flesh. He knocked most of them away, although a few clung to his back with their claws. He growled in pain but continued to battle for his prisoner's sake. Any time a wolf even looked in her direction, the Beast was there to defend. He ripped through their hides with his claws or used his massive fists to force them back. Eventually the wolves knew they had met their match and limped into the darkness of the forest.

Belle, who was still sitting in the snow, now observed her captor in a new light. He was no less frightening or fierce, as the battle with the wolves clearly showed, but where had the protectiveness come from? He did not need her. Frankly, her death would have given him one less responsibility. So why did he care? The cuts on his back and arm dripped and tainted the snow, and in that moment Belle realized what he had sacrificed in coming to her aid. His pride. Her eyes caught his right before they rolled back into his head and he fainted.

Philippe nudged his master with his nose now that he had freed himself from the tree. The hairy man-beast that had saved her appeared to be dead, oozing red into the snow. His master grabbed the saddle, looking away from the scene. He could feel the clenching of her small fists on his back, perhaps an outward expression of internal conflict. What would she choose?

Belle knew what she wanted to do, knew that she wanted to run as quickly as she could in the opposite direction and forget this nightmare. But the look in her captor's eyes before he fell left an imprint on her heart. Perhaps he was as lost as she felt, and his literal solitude in that dark castle was strikingly similar to her lack of companionship in the village. Perhaps they were more alike than she had bargained. If that was truly the case, she couldn't leave him.

The Beast's body was thick with muscle and dense bone, and his prone and lifeless state added to that weight. Belle was used to a fair amount of physical labor, as someone had to take care of the animals and repairs while her father was occupied with his inventions, but she was still too petite to lift such a large and heavy body onto a horse. Belle knelt by his side, careful to avoid his injuries, and covered what she could with her cloak. The garment wrapped around her comfortably, but barely covered his massive chest and lower body. Bell shivered and reached out to touch him. Her hand hovered above his face, inches away from the fur that could have been soft or rough. She wondered just for a moment if it felt like the fur on his chest, which she remembered to have brushed her forehead earlier. Shaking those thoughts away, she moved her hand to his shoulder, which seemed the safer option. She cleared her throat and shook, "Uhm…excuse me…please?"

The darkness and hush were starting to fade as a slight pressure on his shoulder urged wakefulness. The Beast heard a soft voice which mimicked the touch he now understood to be a hand. No one had touched him that way in years, back to a time he could hardly remember. Despite the deep ache of his back, the feeling of his own blood matting his fur, and the cold biting his legs, he felt the hand on his shoulder more acutely. It created a warmth that pooled to his stomach, which was both pleasurable and painful. It knotted and twisted in a way he had never experienced, except for maybe once. The sight of the enchantress…

Belle held back a gasp when the Beast's eyes popped open and stared at her with an intensity she was now coming to expect from him. He regarded her for a moment, looking at her face first before traveling down her neck, then to her chest and abdomen, and finally back to her face. His gaze became wary, as if he had anticipated seeing someone else, and Belle realized that she had kept her hand at his shoulder. "Oh!" She immediately withdrew and held it to her chest. "I…you're…" She motioned to his arm and the blood that had stained his clothing as well as her cloak. "You're hurt and I can't get you onto my horse." It was rather direct, but when was Belle otherwise? "Can you move?"

Despite his injuries, or perhaps because of them, the Beast suddenly felt extremely irritated with the girl. She dared to invade his private space and then had the gall to run away from him! The fact that he told her to do as much was inconsequential, of course. Look at the trouble she had caused him! He could die out in this weather, with a broken body and vital liquids spilling onto the ground. Granted, she would expire sooner than he, as she lacked the insulation of a furry pelt. But that was another point that also didn't matter, because she touched him without asking permission! Prisoners didn't touch their masters. He wasn't about to admit that he was perhaps more angry that she had pulled away so quickly, with what might have been horror. Should he have expected otherwise?

Belle watched her massive captor with curiosity. He never answered her question and appeared to have forgotten about her presence completely. While he stared at her, his eyes were unfocused, as if he was lost in thought. That certainly wouldn't do, as he possessed her cloak and her fingers were starting to turn a discomforting shade of purple. "You." She pressed his shoulder again, addressing him perhaps rudely but certainly less so than "Beast". She didn't expect his clawed hand to dart forward and grab her wrist.

Her shriek hurt his sensitive ears, and the jarring movement of his arm pulled at his wounds. He couldn't contain of painful grunt and scowled. "Stop doing that." He let her go, but not before noticing how the strength of his fingers could snap her tiny wrist. "Call for your horse."

Belle held the wrist that he had snatched with her other hand and stared at him with wide eyes. She had been manhandled and given two stern orders in the span of seconds, but she was strangely unaffected. Well, she wasn't angry, but she was intrigued. What caused this man-beast to terrify her completely, save her life, and then order her about like some servant? She glanced at her wrist. His grip hadn't been completely gentle, but it certainly contained a fraction of the power he could have used. It could have crushed her, but it was firm and nothing more. Belle called for Philippe, and realized that her captor suddenly became an interesting subject for her curiosity to study.

The Beast pulled at the horse's reigns when it approached, attempting to be at a more equal level if he wished to use the horse as support. The horse was not completely thrilled with the idea, he noted. He also noted that the girl was trying to be of service, catching her dropped cloak and making motions to push him forward if he happened to lose his balance. As if one of her size could support one of his. That opinion was tested when his legs partially gave out.

Belle let out a muffled "ooff" as the Beast's body fell back against hers. She pushed him forward with her hands, using all of her strength to keep up upright. "C-can you reach P-Philippe?" She grunted against his back. He had already grabbed the horse, thankfully. If he hadn't, Belle was certain she would have resembled that rabbit her father had accidently stumbled across, most literally, when he startled Philippe and lost control of the cart.

He hauled his own body over Philippe, the poor horse grunting under his weight. When was the last time he had ridden? Years had passed, he knew, but how many he could not remember. The wounds on his chest were aching with every ripple of the steed's muscles as they made their slow journey back to the castle. His discomfort was increased when he noticed the girl walking near him, clad in a thin dress and a poor pair of slippers. She would certainly freeze to death before they reached home. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he strangely hoped that wouldn't be the case.


	2. Small Steps

**In Those Moments**

2: Small Steps

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><p>She was a complete conundrum; though, admittedly, he never had extensive experience with women to fall back on. The ladies of court from his past were delicate, tittering complexities in equally delicate dresses. He remembered watching them in confusion, trying to understand their gestures and coy smiles. The language lessons of the schoolroom never covered these. When he reached adolescence, his eager questions about his female counterparts were met with little interest. However, it was explained that beauty was non-negotiable in a future bride. A prince deserved the best of what was offered. His needs and desires came first. Being surrounded by the aesthetically pleasing was simply a part of that. And as he watched the girl while hidden in shadow, even he had to admit, much to his embarrassment, that her form was certainly pleasing.<p>

Belle, as her father called her, was reclined on the ample ledge of one of the large windows, looking out over the expanse of dense forests that hid his castle from outsiders. One of her hands rested lightly on the glass, as if trying to reach out and make a connection with something in the distance. Her eyes, their color unknown in this light, would lower and blink rapidly before returning to gaze ahead. Her other hand would occasionally brush her cheek. Human body language had become so foreign to him throughout his isolation, but the adept sense of smell his cursed form garnered was more than capable of making up for what he lacked. When the sharp scent of salt filled the air, he knew the girl was crying.

Strangely, there was beauty even in that. Plump droplets finally made a noticeable appearance, clinging to her eyelashes, and she made no move this time to wipe them. It irritated him that someone could possess such attractiveness in a moment of weakness, especially when that person also seemed to be completely unaware of her own general magnetism. She was obviously striking, even under such peasant garb. He recognized it. His servants recognized it. Yet she gave no thought to it. For someone who gave his appearance great thought every day, her nonchalance was extremely unsettling. Sometimes he wanted to take her in his hands and –

"Who's there?"

That train of thought ceased with her rushed whisper. In his distraction, he had unknowingly flexed his claws along the pillars he used as a hiding place and alerted the girl to his presence. Or, in this case, to _someone's_ presence. He could detect fear in her posture, as she likened a startled doe often encountered in the wood. Her large eyes, which he finally noted were a shade of brown, widened considerably and acquired an alertness that he credited. Not easy prey in the slightest.

"Please…come out."

He wondered if she meant it. Her tone was clearly apprehensive. It amazed him that despite her fear, and the perhaps forced politeness on her words, her request sounded like order. A snarl escaped before he thought better of it. He disliked orders. Although, watching her jump at his unplanned response, he decided to humor her and slowly stepped away from the shadows. The light was still quite dim, as the day had been continuously dreary, but he was confident that she could not mistake him. How could anyone?

"Oh. It's you."

She visibly relaxed at the reveal, and his cynicism could barely be constrained. Her form loosened, as if her body had been relieved of a large amount of air. Her eyes, too, softened slightly. Exactly who was she expecting? What sort of monster more menacing than he could be lurking in the castle? He supposed he was also a bit irked that his stature lacked its initial intimidation. "Yes." He growled. Perhaps that would help.

She didn't seem as affected as he would have liked, although the tension in her body returned slightly. He approached her slowly, his clawed feet clicking against the stone floor. The nervous energy around them rose as he continued. She was still watching him, although the eye contact had been broken long ago, and she now focused on some point at his chest. Mere feet from her, he stopped, and one clawed hand reached to re-adjust his cloak.

To his surprise, the girl flinched. That small action, most likely unconscious on her part, caused a painful throb to develop in his chest. Did she really think that he would strike her? His earlier behavior in the West Wing, mainly meant to frighten instead of harm, now shamed him all the more. Despite his appearance, and the sins of his past, he had never raised his hand to purposely hurt a woman. He always found words to be better suited for injury. Physical intimidation might have been easier as a beast, but he had never used his strength in that manner. He was hurt that she thought so, although he accepted the blame. "What are you doing out here?"

Belle relaxed again, and he was proud that his attempt to soften his voice had worked. "Just…thinking." She was brave enough to make eye contact again. "Would you like to sit?"

He supposed that she hadn't thought of the ledge as being much too small for someone of his girth, not considering that she was also perched on it. But he was thankful for small mercies - at least she wasn't ordering him about again. "Where?"

Belle seemed surprised for a moment, but when her eyes swept over the ledge again and returned to meet his, she seemed to understand. He was curious about the flush developing up her throat and over her cheeks, along with the tiny hand toying with an errant strand of hair that had escaped her ribbon. "Perhaps…we could find another place?"

Why was she pursuing this? It angered him that he could never anticipate her responses or understand her motives. His servants were obstinate about frequent interactions, as if time well spent would turn into love. As if a clawed, fanged monster such as he could be deserving of such an emotion. His sneer was involuntary, and he again realized it too late as the girl's expression wavered between confusion and shock. He hummed his irritation, aimed toward himself, and it echoed like a cat's purr. "Follow me."


	3. Polite Conversation

**Disclaimer: **Of course I do not own BATB, and I'm not making money off of this story. I forgot to add this tidbit in the first chapter, so there you go.

**A/N:** This chapter will be a little 'back-and-forth' introspective piece, alternating between Belle's thoughts and the Beast's thoughts, particularly on each other and their current situation.

**Chapter 3: Polite Conversation**

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><p>Belle followed the hulking form before her, partially hidden in shadow, as it treaded down the corridor surprisingly without much noise. She would have assumed that her captor's massive weight against the stone floor, despite the luxurious carpet path, would have echoed throughout the wing. Although, he was of a predatory nature, she noted. Perhaps his stealth was a product of intuition rather than practice.<p>

The walkways were rarely lit, aside from the occasional grouping of flickering wicks above, courtesy of the animated candelabra. The castle would have probably been left in complete darkness if not for her presence, in fact, she had mentioned as much to the chatty teapot after a swift tumble when climbing the stairs. As Belle thought of it, the toe of her slipper caught on the lush carpet and she lurched forward with a squeak, her balance lost. Her hands reached forward and grabbed the nearest thing she could, which happened to be a long cloak. Dainty fingers dug into the fabric, capturing fistfuls of rough fur.

"Ngh!"

Belle quickly released her grip, righted her footing, and clasped her hands to her chest. "Oh!"

He turned his head to the side, giving her a slight glare while grunting heavily, the deep sound vibrating roughly within his chest. One clawed paw quickly righted his cloak. "Watch it."

Belle didn't have time to respond to his reprimand, as he turned abruptly and continued walking down the corridor. She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling a slight chill, but quickly followed after him when she noticed that his long strides were quickly leaving her behind.

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><p>They entered a small room, only just larger than the one she had been given upon her father's departure. Logs crackled as they were wrapped in flames, illuminating the generous hearth and spreading warmth feet beyond to a large padded chair. The material appeared heavy and quite expensive, rivaling any of the furniture she had witnessed in her own home. Another chair was placed in a far corner, although it's scheme in color and shape did not match the other. Belle assumed the two were never meant to occupy the same space, and wondered why they did so now. She had noticed that the walls were lined with shelves, on which books were grouped sporadically, along with other knick-knacks and figurines. There was a feminine touch to the arrangement of the space. It was difficult to see initially, what with the layers of dust and disarray, but after a moment one could noticed the care applied with matching fabrics and styles. All except for that chair.<p>

The beast's clawed toes were tapping the carpet, and Belle wondered if it was a nervous gesture. He decided to occupy himself with the fire, taking an iron poker and roughly prodding the wood, perhaps more than was necessary.

Belle moved toward the fire, watching him as he worked. The awkward chair was closest to the hearth, so she gave it a better inspection now that it was convenient. She had been right about the fabric. The cool spruce shade was only enhanced by its quality. Although, the cushions were showing wear. And were those claw marks on the armrests?

After he had abused the logs to his liking, the beast moved past her and slumped into the chair. His cloak had been removed before he dropped into the cushions and it was thrown on the floor.

Bell stood quietly, wondering if she should say something to alert his attention, or to perhaps comment on the fact that he had brought her here so they both could sit comfortably. He must have forgotten as much during the two second trek from the window to this room. Belle scolded herself the rude thought.

He noticed her before she had to debate long and hard over her own actions. His subtle hum, one that seemed to indicate embarrassment, rumbled about the room and he stood again. Within moments he had lumbered over to the other chair, heaved its weight over his head, and hauled it back to where he had been comfortably sitting. It was dropped to the ground with a barely muffled pound on the carpet. He observed its position, glanced at the girl for a second, and scooted the chair closer to the fire, shifting its angle back and forth before deciding which he liked better.

Belle might have laughed at his sudden particular behavior, if she hadn't retained the shock of watching him gather such a large object in his arms as if the weight was barely felt. Impressive, indeed. She knew there was no reason to fear him, at least at the moment, but seeing such a display reminded her of his power. She would certainly prefer he use it for decorating purposes.

"Here. Sit." The beast gestured to the chair before returning to his own.

She watched him. "Thank you."

He grunted.

Polite conversation might have been too much to ask for.

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><p>He had been enjoying a quiet moment before the fire until he heard the girl wander around the halls. Naturally, he couldn't push his curiosity aside and leave her be. There were rules to living with him. He hadn't thought of them until the moment he found himself responsible for her, but he spent long hours since then formulating exactly what he wouldn't want her to do. It was a distracting task, and he always had time for those. Whatever kept his mind off of his current predicament was welcome.<p>

He watched her, delicately perched on the edge of that ridiculously delicate chair. It had been made for a woman, so it certainly received little use as of late. It fit her, the chair, as did the room. If he hadn't wished to continue using it as one of his own, he might have let her stay here.

"Are you warm enough?"

She flinched, and he realized that his rough voice must have drawn her out of a reverie rather forcefully, despite his attempt at speaking softly.

"Ah…yes, thank you."

He noticed that she rubbed her arms, perhaps to ward off a chill, despite assuring him otherwise. He exhaled, hoping to eliminate his growing frustration with her. Why could she not say exactly what she meant? Certainly that hadn't been a problem before. He gingerly rubbed the bandage on his forearm. _If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!_

Irritating woman.

She rubbed her arms again, so he reached down to where his cloak sat in a pile and threw the large expanse of fabric at her.

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><p>Belle was surprised when the garment landed over her head. She pulled it down quickly, mussing the hair that had been neatly pulled back by a ribbon. It was hard to decide if he was being purposely obnoxious or kind, as they seemed to coincide with every action he took. How gentlemanly it would have been to simply hand the cloak to her, instead of thrusting it at her face. But what could she honestly expect from a beast?<p>

He was ignoring her now, having returned his gaze to the fire. She assumed that he must have caught the irritated purse of her lips and furrow of her brow. It was similar to reprimanding a child for unwanted behavior, without having to raise your voice or show other sorts of vocal displeasure. He just knew. Although, he might have been used to disapproval, given his current state. Belle found her empathy for the creature occasionally irritating. _He _had certainly started this entire matter.

Not letting the warmth of the cloak go to waste, even if it was his warmth, Belle wrapped herself up in it. She had expected it to smell of animal, and considering that he had worn it in the snow, _wet_ animal. Surprisingly, she could only detect the subtle sent of burning wood, and beneath that whiffs of pine. It was…pleasant. But she would never admit as much.

Her eyes caught the shelves of books again. "Do you like to read?"

He let a lazy eye catch her own, seemingly judging her demeanor to see if she was still angry. "No."

Well then!

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><p>The beast had never been so…amused. Especially not with a woman. How fiercely she scowled when he confessed his dislike of reading. He needn't tell her it was partially due to his not remembering how. She would probably think him ignorant, not that he could really argue. Isolation had stripped away many of his mannish qualities, firstly those he had been forced to learn as a boy. How she would raise her priggish nose at him. And she, a mere peasant!<p>

He would never admit as much, but the idea of her knowing his inadequacies sent a ripple of shame through him.

"Do you?" He wouldn't look at her. "Like to read, that is." The question wasn't much of one. He was certain he already knew the answer.

Her eyebrows rose, as if he had asked her if she was indeed a captive, brown-haired female "Oh yes." An 'of course' almost spilled over her pink lips, but he could tell that she quickly righted herself. Her eyes returned to the books that flanked the walls around them. He had noticed that she had been regarding them here and there for a majority of the time they occupied the room.

"I thought they might be yours." She spoke softly then, with a reverence that he would probably never understand. They were just books, after all.

"No." He paused, wondering what he should tell her. "They belonged to my mother."

She was shocked. He could tell. Perhaps she had thought that he wouldn't share a portion of his history with her, or maybe she hadn't considered the reality of his having parents. He had often wondered what type of stories people would tell after seeing him. They would think him a demon, having erupted from a fissure in the ground, or something similar. Sometimes he wondered himself. Perhaps the memories of family were actually figments of a yearning imagination.

He was suddenly tired, and wished she would go.

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><p>Belle felt the immense guilt again as she watched the poor creature wearily watch the fire, his large hand toying with the bandage on his arm. Despite how she often felt about being kept captive in this dreary castle, she certainly couldn't ignore the pain of the man before her. Whoever or whatever his mother was, she must have loved him. She remembered such love, wishing it could have been bottled before it slipped away. They were two of a kind, in that respect. Strange thoughts, indeed.<p>

"Thank you, for bringing me here." She let the cloak slip away from her shoulders and began folding it out of habit. "But I am tired, and would like to return to my room." The approach was rather hesitant; she wasn't certain if he would feel insulted at her departure. She stood before him, cloak in hand, and slowly placed it over his arm. In that exact moment, his hand reached out and the soft fur of his odd finger-like appendages brushed the back of her hand. She stepped backward quickly, taking her hands with her.

His chest rumbled, sounding like a cat's purr, and Belle fled.


	4. Subtle Touch

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'm having a hard go of it trying to find another job, and I have a few writing projects that have been taking up my time. If you're interested in keeping up, or just curious as to what I'm doing with my time, you can check out my blog here: .com/ Shameless self-promotion, I know.**

**ALSO: This chapter deals with age and how time works under the castle's enchantment. We're under the assumption that the Beast is roughly 20-21 when Belle shows up, and that he's been cursed for around 10 years. That would make him rather young when visited by the Enchantress. And the portrait in his room, which he destroys, makes him appear much older than that. So, I'm suggesting that time works differently under the rules of the enchantment. Perhaps he was a bit older, maybe a teenager, and 10 years is less than accurate. What are your thoughts?**

**In Those Moments**

**4: Subtle Touch**

The cool air was constricting to her lungs, but she much preferred it to the dank and dreary insides of the castle. Belle watched the white flakes flutter in a gentle gust before settling at her feet. The days had begun to intermingle, and she couldn't recall when she had entered the castle and what span of time had passed from that point until now. Certainly the drifts of white reaching mid-calf could attest to the length of her stay. It had been snowing for so long.

The grounds were certainly magnificent. She noted their expanse from her bedroom window, and had been eager to explore. There was a strange beauty in the haphazard growth of vines and furs, which invaded the carefully paved walkways. Bare branches from standing and felled trees reached out to her like boney, brown fingers. Surely the strange enchantment blanketing the castle and its inhabitants also covered the stretching landscape. This was her first chance to wander unfettered; although, the weight of a watcher's gaze haunted her steps. She was on the west end, near a mass of overgrown hedge, and knew that he could see her if he chose to. Slowly she slipped behind the hedge, wondering if she should have chosen the east end instead.

No, he would find her if he wished. These were his grounds and she would have no place to escape if need be.

She wouldn't let that thought ruin her afternoon, however. This was the best chance she had to explore, and how could she deny herself the singular pleasure?

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><p>The Beast, per usual, remained in shadow, his hulking form hidden behind the thick, tattered curtains of his master suite. The only light entered through a slit in the fabric, which he used to watch the girl wander the yard. Her general graceful yet girlish movements were hampered by the depth of the drifts she waddled through. That minor imperfection amused him.<p>

He shouldn't watch her, he knew. It would only make him ruminate on the suggestions he hadn't wanted to hear from his servants. He wouldn't pursue the girl, even if it meant his freedom. She wouldn't choose him. How could that not be obvious? While the obnoxious candelabra interrupted his quiet moments to argue differently, the beastly portion of his conscious knew that love was not a part of his future.

His claws caught the fabric of his cloak, which he had thrown over his shoulders carelessly while absorbed in thought. The tearing sound ignited further irritation. He had just had the thing mended!

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><p>Certain that she was well away from prying eyes, Belle dusted off a worn bench amid a cluster of furs and thorned bushes. She took care as she sat, remaining out of the plants' reach, and pulled a small book from a deep pocket she had constructed in her skirt. Her sewing skills were less than admirable, but the small project had kept her busy and proved rather useful.<p>

_Histoires ou contes du temps passé_. The words were embedded on the novel's smooth cover. She had been delighted to have a copy, surprised that such silly tales were found in such a somber place. Surprised that such an object would be sitting outside her bedroom door, for that matter. It would have been ridiculous to assume that _he_ had left it there. Although…

Belle toyed with her hair ribbon, which had been used as a marker and was currently wedged between the multiple pieces of beige parchment. She carefully separated the pages and inhaled the slightly sweet yet earthy aroma. If her current, rather _fantastical _circumstances hadn't created a strange kinship with the fairy tales she held between her fingertips, then the smell of the pages would certainly be a bittersweet reminder of home.

The pages that spread at her will were littered with evenly spaced, black lines that would become words, sentences, and paragraphs upon closer inspection. The right page held a line of larger script, set off from the rest of the text: _Le Petit Chaperon rouge_. She had read this one before, of the young girl in the red cloak, but it had never ceased its appeal in humor and terror. The parallels between the cautionary tale and her father's encounter, which led to his, and subsequently her own, imprisonment, were duly noted. Dealing with strangers, especially the beastly variety, was best avoided.

* * *

><p>A solitary figure hid behind the dense foliage, watching the young woman as she absorbed the tales compiled in the small novel on her lap. It was predatory behavior, the stalking and tracking, which led him to her hideaway. She had a subtle sent, lighter and sweeter than what usually drifted past his nostrils, so detecting her presence was never difficult. It was only after he found her that he questioned his actions. She was allowed to explore the grounds, as long as she remained within them, so his supervision was not necessarily need – and certainly not wanted.<p>

He convinced himself that her penchant for curiosity warranted a watchful eye.

Her tiny hands flipped the pages effortlessly, with a rapid succession that suggested swift comprehension of the material. The compilation wasn't what many would consider laborious reading, but he still felt a pinch of intimidation at her obvious skill. It had become a lost art, where he was concerned, and he disliked the upper hand it gave her.

For all of his learned stealth, he realized that most of his instincts reduced substantially when lost in thought. Such was evident when his mind had cleared and he found the girl watching him silently.

* * *

><p>Belle wondered if she could ever find a moment <em>alone<em>.

The hulking body of her captor was barely hidden, as his height and girth overwhelmed most of the shrubs and smaller furs. Could he truly be that unaware of his size? It was a curious consideration.

"Would you please come out?" Belle replaced the ribbon and closed the book. "It's rather distracting."

His quick snort proved his irritation, although he did as she asked. It was quite a sight, watching the plants quiver at the force of his steps. Clearly his stealth was practiced and not innate.

"Thank you."

Belle had to admit that discovering him partially encapsulated by greenery, with those striking eyes fixed steadily on her, was momentarily frightening. She was certain that she had lost her breath, although it was quickly regained.

She gestured to him with an upturned palm. "Would you like to join me?"

_This is certainly becoming a routine event._

* * *

><p>He thought he might tear her book into bits if she requested his company once more. No, he wouldn't join her, especially if it meant ultimately humiliating himself. He wondered if she knew about his lack of schooling and grunted, assuming it was so. He should have left that damned thing on the shelf. "I do not read."<p>

She had the gall to laugh!

He withheld the snarl that was threatening to curl his lip, his fingers itching to curl around her throat. How dare she smile at him that way!

"Yes, you have said as much before." The girl stood and brushed off her skirt, although he detected no dirt that would require the need to do so. "Would you like to show me the grounds?" She gestured to the book in her hand. "That was what I was doing previously, before I became distracted."

The switch in her supposed intent gave him pause. Did she truly not realize that he disliked reading simply because he could not do it? However much he wished to find it, he detected no malice in her tone. No mockery. No intention of embarrassment. It was puzzling.

"Well?" She had come to stand closer to him while maintaining a few feet of distance. Her scent drifted on the breeze and caused him to shudder.

"Are you cold?"

_What!_ He growled. "Do I look-" Remembering the words of a certain candelabra, he breathed deeply and stomped ahead of her, forcing his contained frustration to be taken out on the drifts beneath him. "Hardly."

* * *

><p><em>Well, I never would have expected that.<em>

Belle watched as he paved a path ahead of them, furiously pushing through the icy barriers that intended to prevent their adventure. She had been anticipated his rage. It was perhaps foolhardy to anger him so. Although, she hadn't quite meant to do it in that instance. His face was so delightfully expressive, even with all of the fur, and it contributed to her amusement. She had once confessed that she would have nothing to do with him. But now…

Her confinement had become too monotonous to spend alone. There were moments when he still frightened her, and times she wished to have to herself; however, when he did appear, usually at the wrong time and in the wrong place, she found that she could not turn him away. For all of his gruff grumblings and snarls, she detected something childlike in his tantrums. His age was certainly unknown to her, as was his _species_, but it was highly possible that he was only an adolescent.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

He paused briefly, barely glancing backward at her before trudging forward. "What is it?" He grumbled.

For a moment, her gumption faltered. "What…that is…how old are you?"

His ears twitched. That was the only indication that he had heard her. His pace then began to slow. "Why?"

"Well…in your…_state_…" Belle realized that she might have offended him, but she strangely couldn't find accurate but complimentary words. "I can't tell."

He snorted, the warmth of this breath materialized in the air, and he came to a full stop. Belle, who hadn't been anticipating his movements, collided with his back and fell backward into the snow.

"Oh!" She felt the cold impact on her rear first, despite her thick skirt and cloak. The fall stunned her for a moment, before a sharp pain assaulted her unguarded fingers. She shook off the snow and rubbed them fiercely. _Of all the times to forget my handwarmer_.

A large-fingered paw descended and Belle jumped when she spotted it, pushing her body back into the drifts.

* * *

><p>The Beast observed her reaction but kept his hand extended, although it was with great effort. He hadn't realized that he still frightened her. The forward, to the point of being improper, questions she normally presented him had hidden her fear rather well. While he might have once relished in that thought, it now strangely bothered him. He had assumed that they had worked past such trepidations.<p>

The girl watched him, seemingly surprised by the show of kindness. He waited for her to respond, if she would at all, and was frankly surprised when her tiny hand hesitantly gripped his palm.

The Beast studied her face, searching for any sign of the fear that she had previously exhibited. Although suddenly a bit shy, her breathing _had_ evened, so he was reassured. He closed his fingers around her hand and easily lifted her from the ground.

It took the girl a moment to steady herself, so his gentle grip remained until she initiated the separation. Their fingers brushed lightly and the Beast felt a sudden frustration that he couldn't identify. "Understand-" He realized that his tone and volume were inappropriate for the meaning of the words he was trying to impart. He exhaled roughly, trying once again but with a softer growl. "You are my prisoner, but…" As she watched him, he realized how small and fragile she was. He was suddenly afraid that even a gentle touch of his would bruise and break. "I will not hurt you."

* * *

><p>Belle was surprised by the warmth of his touch. When had she last felt human contact?<p>

_Human._

How could she even consider that? He wasn't human. Was he? What separated man from beast, when the beast so clearly exhibited characteristics of a man? The strength of his fingers, while furred and clawed, was so similar to a man's. If she closed her eyes, and listened to his voice, didn't it sound like a man?

He said that he wouldn't hurt her, and she felt compelled to believe him.

"And-"

She caught his eyes, wondering what else he could possibly say.

"It is my twentieth year."

* * *

><p><strong>AN x2:**

**I've taken liberties with the texts that Bell might have encountered. **_**Histoires ou contes du temps passé **_**is a collection of fairy tales by ****Charles Perrault and was published in the 1600's. Given that the movie has fudged their own timeline a bit, I figured I could too. **


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